


LOST: Part 4 featuring Panic! At The Disco, Green Day, Fall Out Boy,The Killers

by xxxPrettyOddxxx



Series: LOST [4]
Category: Fall Out Boy, Green Day, My Chemical Romance, Nirvana, Panic! at the Disco, The Killers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-01
Updated: 2014-02-01
Packaged: 2018-01-10 19:19:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1163490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxxPrettyOddxxx/pseuds/xxxPrettyOddxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to LOST: Part 3</p>
            </blockquote>





	LOST: Part 4 featuring Panic! At The Disco, Green Day, Fall Out Boy,The Killers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ronnie Vannuci](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ronnie+Vannuci).



LOST: Part 4

Pete and Brendon were concealed in the bushes, looking at a gaily painted village that looked as though it had been designed by scene kids. Everything was either a very bright white, or a warm orange. They’d been to the other island over a week ago, and had discovered Patrick was no longer there. It had taken a week to come up with a new plan, the other motions they had gone through had failed.

The hardest part had been finding Patrick’s location, but after extensive stalking of Katy Perry, whose love for animal print bikinis and cherry chapstick made her conveniently conspicuous, they’d discovered this village.

Now they knew where their boy was tonight, they were planning to grab him. He had to be in one of these buildings, and they were there to find out which. They had come up with a few potential ways of achieving their goal. The first was to grab Ryan if he was spotted, and interrogate him. The second was to simply wait it out until they could find out Patrick’s exact location.

As they watched from their convenient hiding spot, they mainly saw people in jumpsuits, similar to the ones Chris wore, moving about not noticing them. Sometimes, Obama or Justin Bieber would wander past, justifying Brandon's claims.

They waited a few hours, quickly bored by the sight of the no longer famous people. Brendon was staring at a tree, mind elsewhere wondering if he had the requisite skills to carve a cane for himself, when Pete gasped. Brendon blinked, and looked in the direction that Pete was. They watched Patrick almost catch a football that Harry Styles kicked, a shambolic kick at best, to him. It was just past eight and Patrick was obviously feeling young and reckless. Was he sleeping for the wrong team?

Patrick ran in their direction, spotting them and waving his hand frantically, suggesting they needed to get out with urgency.

Pete was shocked. Patrick was with the enemy? Willingly with the enemy? Did he even know his enemy? Did Pete know who Patrick really was?

* * * *

Patrick awoke a day after spotting Pete and Brendon in the bushes. He had wanted to stop and talk to them, but he couldn’t without being caught. He knew they’d be caught if he didn’t tell them to get out of there, so he did the best he could.

He was in his room, in a house he shared with someone he couldn’t even remember the name of. He was, of course, planning his own escape, but didn’t really want his almost famous friends to be captured. They had such good fashion sense.

He moved towards his door, hoping to go outside, only to find his door locked. Nobody put Patrick in a corner!

“Hey! What’s going on? Let me out here! I'm afraid that I may have faked it." He screamed frantically upon realising that his keys were also gone. He found his windows locked, and for some reason, he couldn’t smash them open.

He paced around the house, calling out for help, wishing he hadn't burnt so many bridges.

Suddenly, he heard a door open, and listened as someone wearing a gas mask swore at a can they were shaking up that already had gas steaming out of it at him.

Patrick landed, already out before he thumped to the floor.

We will, however, pick back up on that on another page.

* * * *

Ryan awoke in the jungle,one of his wrists held by a handcuff. He blinked his piggy little eyes and tried to make sense of what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the distinct lack of reflective surfaces and the gas can, both ominous.

He pulled at the handcuff, felt resistance and immediately knew he was cuffed to someone else. He sat up, feeling dizzy, and looked at the person passed out beside him.

Patrick?

Why was he in the jungle with Patrick? He grabbed Patrick’s shoulder and shook him, trying to wake him up, looking past the sweat, and wondering inanely if Patrick thought about him in bed.

It took a few minutes of this to awake Patrick, whose normally loud snoring was muffled by the grass which stood tall around the pair.

“Huh?” He groaned as he found himself staring into Ryan’s eyes, he was the last thing Patrick wanted to see underneath his tree. He was horrified to find he wasn’t just with Ryan, but was chained to him.

“What’s going on Patrick?” Ryan asked.

“How do you think I know?” Patrick muttered back, rolling his eyes and wishing Ryan would bury himself alive, the guy lacked common sense among other things.

He stood up, dragging Ryan with him. Ryan was slow in every way possible and Patrick felt he almost needed Billie Joe here to keep him moving, lest he be tempted to poke the idiot with a stick and scream "Dance Dance"

It was a long walk with Ryan in tow, and it took Patrick an entire day to get back to the camp. He hoped his friends had made it back. Best friends, ex friends until the end, whatever, he still hoped they were okay.

* * * *

Pete and Brendon had headed back to camp, not really knowing what to think. Was Patrick one of them now? Pete kind of blamed himself. Why would Patrick even want to come back after the way he had acted? Brendon had assured Pete that it wasn’t his fault, and if it was, that only proved how immature Patrick was. Pete didn’t believe a word that he said, but he couldn't stop listening,he still blamed himself.

It didn’t really come as a shock to Pete when Brandon was upset about the lack of Patrick. He’d kind of realised by then what was going on.

Brandon was still trying to plan. He still wanted to save Patrick. Pete would’ve helped, if he hadn’t thought it futile. Pete just watched Brandon mumble and draw lines in the sand with a short, unholy stick, as Brendon wandered off to the hatch, taking the back roads and looking at the stars.

Chris was down there, keeping an eye on the button, pushing it at 108 minute intervals, but Brendon still believed this button was a part of his destiny. And besides, no one knew what would happen if he neglected to push this button. Without an answer, the thunder spoke from the sky.

He used the door on ground level to enter the hatch. The novelty of going down on the rope had worn off before it had even begun.

Brendon wandered in, immediately glancing at the timer. 8 seconds. His first thought was that Chris was asleep, but he wasn’t sure it was even possible in the wake of Saturday. It certainly hadn’t been for him. He moved toward the computer, almost certain he wouldn’t reach it in time. He slammed 4 and 8 on the keypad, before the clock ticked to zero and the dreary, badly lit room, glowed a bright, and alarming red. A red alert, the color of panic

It didn’t stop at zero, each number flicked over one more time revealing a series of hieroglyphs. The alarm sounded, making Brendon more frantic. Why did he keep counting?

He noticed concrete doors that looked like walls,lined with fashion magazines, presumably created to keep out outside threat, coming down, sealing him in this room. Chris had come into the room just seconds before, standing in a shocked manner by the computer. Brendon tried to run and slide under on of the falling doors, which only resulted in his left leg being trapped under the large concrete slab. He screamed, his voice not nearly as high as Ryan’s, who seemed to insist on taking it higher and higher, as his leg was crushed. He was too afraid to attempt to pull it out, and just found himself screaming and babbling and trying to say things he didn’t quite understand himself, a habit he had probably acquired from Pete.

Chris came over with a metal rod, unsure of what to do. He tried to pry the door upwards, if only slightly, but failed.

“Push the button! Please… just do it Chris!” Brendon screamed. Chris looked shocked, more unsure now than ever before, but when Brendon made his plea a second time, he moved to the computer.

At first, it seemed to do nothing and Chris panicked. Maybe he couldn’t fix people after all, or maybe that was just the rush of blood to the head talking.

Then, the red lights stopped flashing, and the alarms stopped sounding. It was a few more moments before the doors rolled up. As it went up, it pulled out of Brendon’s leg, exposing a horrible wound. His knee was torn apart. Everything inside was clearly visible, bone sticking out through the skin, blood mixed with some other substance which was oozing down his calf, other things Chris couldn’t even begin to describe. It was a sight worthy of it’s own horror movie.

Brendon’s screams had ceased and morphed into pitiful sobs. His energy was quickly draining and the sight of his own leg hadn’t helped. He was dizzy, and everything was moving out of focus. He tried to breathe slowly and deeply and remain calm, but the pain, mixed with the blood was all too much and he had to let himself go.

He shut his eyes and sighed.

He awoke on the couch, leg straightened by a splint held on by bloody bandages. Pete was sitting on the arm of the couch, waiting, slightly disgruntled at the loss of his white flags.

Brendon was exhausted. He just stared at Pete and blinked. Pete didn’t even notice. Brendon let himself fall asleep, pain unnoticed for the time being.

“Pete!” A voice came from the door. Pete sighed and stood up. “Pete, you need to come out here… It’s umm Patrick and that other one.”

“What other one?” Pete replied very slowly, as he moved toward Brandon.

“Uhh. I can’t remember his name. The ugly one with the mirror fetish.”

“Shit!”

****

Patrick couldn’t wait to be cut free from Ryan. It hadn’t exactly been an enjoyable trip. Spencer was watching them both closely, as he waited for Pete. They could all hear Pete before they saw him, and for once, it wasn’t because of the incessant talking, but more the sprinting.

He ran directly at Ryan and pushed him into the tree behind him. He screamed at him as he pinned him against it. Pete pushed his fist hard into Ryan’s cheek which shielded his bones from the crippling blow. All the Panic! members seemed immune to such blows.

Ryan’s shrieks came as no surprise to all involved, although, Pete noted that his goal of taking it higher and higher may have just been achieved.

Pete slammed his knee upwards, hitting Ryan perfectly. Ryan’s knees crippled and he found himself on the ground.

“Tell me everything I wanna hear, you know exactly what that is, but be warned, anything you say can and will be held against you.” He hissed.

Ryan choked as he spoke. “I- We woke up in th- the jungle like this. I d-d-didn’t do it, I swear Pete!”

“Pete, calm down, it’s not his fault.” Patrick interjected.

“Patrick, he handed us over to them! How can you forgive him for that? He could’ve gotten us killed!” Pete yelled as he stepped back reluctantly from Ryan who was shaking, probably more bothered by the effects on his appearance than the pain itself. “Bring them into the hatch, I can probably cut these off, but keep an eye on Ryan. I don’t trust him.”

Pete walked off.

When he got into the hatch, Brendon was awake and causing a commotion on the gurney, well, the couch they were using as a gurney anyway. He was trying to sit up, causing himself more pain than anyone could possibly imagine, and shifting the angle at which the splint sat on his leg.

“Brendon, stop!” Pete sighed, somewhat sick of needing to babysit Brendon.

“What’s going on out there?”

“The return of the traitors. Or should it be ‘Ryan Strikes Again’? I’m not sure yet.”

“Patrick and Ryan?”

“Who else?”

Patrick and Ryan, tailed carefully by Spencer came in. Both looked a little in shock to find themselves down here.

Pete led them over to a strange looking saw-like machine on a bench. He carefully placed Patrick’s wrist under it, and chopped the cuff right off. Patrick flinched, his eyes screwed tightly shut. It made a metallic noise as it hit the ground.

Pete wasn’t so careful with Ryan, mainly due to lack of concern, but still managed to get it in the right spot.

His piece fell to the ground too.

Pete looked at Spencer who nodded, and placed his big, beefy hands on Ryan’s shoulders.

“What now?” Ryan whined.

Spencer just shoved him in the room that used to contains arms that now had been dealt to civilians in return for their help in growing food. It seems the right to bear arms had made it to the island.

The metal door was rolled shut, and locked from the outside.

Ryan didn’t bother screaming, although his weeping was just as bad.

Pete turned to Patrick. “Do I need to do the same to you?”

“Oh God Pete! I’m not with them! I had to earn their trust so I could escape, what else was I supposed to do? I didn’t think you’d come for me.”

“Sure Patrick.”

“You still don’t trust me? We’ve only known each other 10 years! Pete... I swear I’m not one of them.”

“What are ‘they’ Patrick? What are they doing?”

“It could take a while to explain.”

Pete casually took back up his position on the arm of Brendon’s couch. “We’ve got plenty of time.”

“Okay, so you probably know Obama’s at the head by now. I don’t know a lot, but what I know is there’s a guy named Kurt... and for reasons unknown, he needs us. So they are helping him, I think. They’re getting us, for Kurt. Wow, that didn’t take as long as I thought.”

“What’s with the little village thing? The one that looks like another scene kid creation?”

“Uh, apparently it’s left over from the Dharma Initiative, whatever that is.”

Pete looked at Brendon, who looked extremely shocked.

“The Dharma initiative?”

“Some program run on this island back in the 1970’s. They discontinued.”

“Discontinued?”

Patrick nodded.

Brendon pulled himself up on crutches Spencer had brought in earlier. He wasn’t supposed to use them.

“No one push that button. Do not touch it.”

Pete ignored Brendon, knowing Brendon was off on another crazy rant, and was in no condition to stop them from pressing it anyway.

“Button?” Patrick asked.

“Erghh. Follow me Patrick.” Pete said, heading toward the projector.

* * * *

Brandon hadn’t gotten to talk to Patrick. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. What would he say? I think I like Pete, but I like you too and I don’t know what to do? I may have slept with Pete while you were gone? Maybe it was best just to avoid him.

Brandon was still trying to get Dave to talk, but tonight he felt miserable himself, and found himself sitting by Dave in silence. He realised he was crying but didn’t realise Dave had noticed.

“Don’t cry.” He whispered.

Brandon was silent for a moment. “It took you forty days to talk.”

“It took you forty days to cry.”

And then Brandon cried some more.

* * * *

Ryan was angry, which he expressed the same way he expressed most emotions, in a show of ugly accentuated by high pitched noise and hideous expressions on his face. Thank God he only had one.. He was currently locked in a metal room with only a bed. The walls weren’t even reflective. Not enough for Ryan, anyway. They hadn’t given him so much as a hairbrush and he wished he had changed his ways while he was young.

He wanted out of here, and he’d doing anything to get out. Although, he didn’t have many options. He’d have to wait.

Two days later, Pete was done thinking. His brain had gone into overdrive trying to figure out how to proceed. It had taken longer than expected, many of the thoughts popping into his brain were entirely irrelevant.

“We’re going to Dharmaville!” He stood up and yelled to the people who were in earshot. That included Brandon, Chris and Patrick.

“Huh?” Patrick shook his head as he asked.

“Chris had a boat. Didn’t you Chris?” Chris nodded.

“It’s over there, I saw it, it’s messed up, but it’ll float, we don’t need to go far.” People still looked confused. “We’re going to take the boat, and our guns, and hit them where they don’t expect it. From the dock!”

“Pete, can you drive a boat?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll try.” He shrugged. “Here’s my plan. Patrick, Brandon and I go on the boat to Dharmaville. Chris will stay and watch Brendon. I don’t trust him with that button. We take Ryan, and trade him off if need be, but I want a guarantee they won’t come after us again. Goddamn, even an explanation as to who Kurt is will do!”

Maybe Pete was crazy, and the plan wasn’t infallible but it sounded better than sitting here awaiting the next attack.

Pete went down to the hatch, entered the code, noticing Brendon asleep and proceeded to the room which housed Ryan.

“Get up.” He said as he opened the door. He grabbed the back of Ryan’s shirt as he moved toward him.

They found themselves on the deck of a small sailing boat little more than an hour later, Ryan tied up in the cabin. Patrick and Brandon had pushed it into the water a little as Pete tried to steer it in the right direction. They climbed back onto the boat once they had put the boat in a position which would allow them to head to the dock.

“Pete,you sure you know what you’re doing?” Patrick questioned.

“No, no I don’t. But hey, what does it matter?” Pete grinned. Brandon blushed from his seat on the back of the bus.

The sailing wasn’t particularly smooth, what with the northern downpour and all, but Pete actually seemed to be able to guide the boat in the correct direction. Although the cracking of wood from the cabin wasn’t particularly promising.

Patrick didn’t really avoid Brandon as such, but the awkwardness was apparent. Patrick didn’t really know what he was supposed to do. He knew, to just a certain extent, what had happened in his absence, but he wasn’t really sure what it meant or how to handle it. It was easier not to deal with it at all. Brandon on the other hand, was continuing to avoid Patrick. He wasn’t so much awkward as unsure what her himself thought. Awkwardness was reserved for singing about spacemen while wearing lobster suits.

The cracking underneath continued, and for a while it was blamed on Ryan. Sadly, this wasn’t Ryan’s fault, but the rotting bottom of the boat slowly falling away. Pete was leaning over the side of the boat when the cabin fell out from beneath them, and he watched it float out from under the boat.

As the waves rotated the cabin, it filled with water. Moments later, a window became visible, as did Ryan’s face. The look of sheer terror on his face made it disturbingly unattractive. The bruises and contusions Pete had left lined his face as he pressed it against the glass. His piggy eyes looked larger in the glass, and it was evident he needed a haircut. Pete couldn’t look away, and he wished he would drown faster so that he needn’t see his repulsive little face anymore. Ryan’s wails could be heard from even the depths of the ocean, and eventually, he disappeared. He was crashing on the ocean floor, but he was no wave.

“Guy’s, I’m sorry to inform you… Nope, honestly, I’m not sorry at all. I’m extremely happy to tell you that Ryan Ross is now lying on the bottom of the ocean.”

They looked shocked, and Patrick was trying hard to hide a smirk that was pulling at his lips.

“Bad news it though, we’re going to have to walk the rest of the way and we don’t have a pawn.” He hopped off the side of the boat, ready to swim to the shore. The others followed.

* * * *

Ryan was sinking. He could see Pete, but had seconds earlier worked out that Pete wasn’t going to help him. The boat was going down fast, and water was quickly making it’s way in. He didn’t want to go this way. He didn’t want his body somewhere on the bottom of the ocean. He wasn’t Osama Bin Laden! He felt the water tickling his chin, rising faster now. Seconds later it was beginning to cover his lips. He reached for the mirror fixed above the sink, and pulled it off with one quick rip. The water’s top was touching his nose, and he knew he had moments left.

The water rose over his head, and already he could feel his chest tightening, he held the mirror close to his face and shut his eyes. He wanted the very last thing he saw to be himself. He opened his eyes, and as he ran out of oxygen, he finally realised how ugly he was. Maybe it was that that killed him, but that was the end of George Ryan Ross The Third. He would not be coming back to life for anyone.

* * * *

They found themselves walking on the sand bordering the jungle. Somewhat stupidly, they were still heading toward Dharmaville, which they were unsure was even inhabited, after the gas can incident.

It was a slow walk, and they could see the remains of the boat sinking in the distance. Any remaining optimism had been drained from them, with their energy, as they swam toward the shore.

After they had walked for an hour, watching the sunset, Brandon decided he needed he wanted to poo, and assured them he wouldn’t take as long as Ronnie before wandering into the jungle.

“Patrick, we need to talk.” Pete whispered when they were alone. Damn Brendon, this whispering was contagious.

“You want apologies? Pete, you might hold your breath until your breathing stops forever. Can’t we just leave it Pete?”

Pete just nodded, he could hear Brandon returning. Geez, he was fast. Maybe he had just become used to Ronnie speed.

Brandon emerged, and they continued to walk, feeling bored, and hopeless. Eventually, Pete decided it was best if they made a campfire and camped out for the night. Patrick went to collect firewood, and Pete used stones to make an area for the fire.

Patrick came back with an armful of wood, which seemed dry enough. Pete just so happened to have a lighter in his bag, though it still took quite a long time to get the fire going.

Patrick was the first to fall asleep. Brandon was trying not to get caught staring at Pete whose mind seemed to be elsewhere. Pete smiled at Brandon a few times, trying to quell the awkwardness between them, but it wasn’t really working. Eventually, Brandon fell asleep too and Pete found himself alone.

****

He was pushing harder than he had ever pushed before. One more time… He grunted very loudly as he did, but his efforts produced little more than a pea sized nugget. This made Ronnie angry. Why the hell could he never poo?

Water!

He needed to drink more, soften it all up. That would fix it! He could get it all out with just a few bottles of water.

This amazing idea compelled Ronnie to pull up his pants, conveniently forgetting to wipe his ass, and head toward the hatch. Even the need to poo couldn’t quell his excitement. He almost found himself skipping to the hatch.

Upon arriving, he wandered into the store room, not stopping to exchange greetings with whomever may be inside at this moment. He grabbed four bottles of water and headed for the bathroom.

He opened the first, and skulled it all in moments. It was quickly chased by the second, and faster yet, the third. The fourth was the quickest of all, and Ronnie decided this wasn’t quite enough. He refilled the bottles from the tap, and did it all over again.

As he waited for the liquid to soften his poo, Ronnie looked in the mirror. He decided now was a good time to take away the Ronnie stereotype. He would no longer be Constipated Ronnie: The unkempt, unheard of, and source of all good poo jokes. No, the beard would go, and the moustache too. And the biggest achievement of all would be the lack of poo!

He picked up some shaving cream from a rack in the shower and happily shaved away all the facial hair he had, besides his eyebrows, which he had only taken a little off accidently.

As he turned the shower off, he felt again the pressing need to poo, and was surprised by how soft it was. It was like a cloud asking gently, but insistently, to release itself from the confines of his anus.

He sat on the toilet and sighed as poo flowed from his body.

It was warm, and oh so sloppy. Even Ronnie knew this wasn’t normal. Believe it or not, there was a time once in the past when Ronnie pooped like any other person. Of course, this was a long time ago. But he knew that pooing should still require some effort, though not to the level Ronnie usually found himself exerting to. He realised that this was what people called diarrhoea, a foreign concept to Ronnie.

He sighed yet again, no longer feeling the need to grunt. He had gone from Constipated Ronnie to Diarrhoea Ridden Ronnie.

He reminded himself not to drink for a while. Though, he’d still need to wait for the now liquidated build up to pass through. He made himself comfortable on the toilet. This could take a while.

* * * *

When they awoke in the morning, the continued on their way to the beach. They were still tired and not even remotely enthused.

Pete tried to raise spirits with his pep talk, which were up of words spoken too fast and blurred together. No one even seemed to notice.

Every now and then, black smoke could be seen moving deep in the jungle. No one wanted to concentrate on that right now.

Noises could also be heard from the jungle, but once again, they just weren’t up for caring right now.

Maybe they should’ve been. They hardly had time to pull their guns from the waistbands of their pants before they found themselves tied, heads covered by a sack.

Pete screamed angrily, Patrick and Brandon were silent. Somebody placed their hands on his back, and yanked him to his feet. He was pushed forward, and then guided in the direction he assumed was the jungle.

He could hear stumbles behind him as he himself tripped over vines and sticks on the ground, and knew Patrick and Brandon were behind him.

It was a long walk, yet another one, and it was filled with blind trips stumbles. Pete didn’t bother to struggle. He knew they had his guns, and most likely others. It would be pointless if not counter productive.

Brandon was scared, but trying not to make a hot fuss. He didn’t feel like being their number one with bullet. He just tried to be compliant.

Patrick was listening for Pete. If Pete tried to get away or make noise, Patrick knew there was a plan, and then he himself would act. Until then, he would do nothing.

Pete knew they were closer to Dharmaville. The ground was less perilous and far flatter. He was still trying to plan an escape, but it wasn’t easy. Another two minutes, and they found themselves walking along a wooden surface. Patrick assumed it was the dock. They felt a tug on their shirts, and stopped moving. After a rough shove, they were on their knees.

A man pulled the sacks off their heads, and they looked up.

They were looking right into the eyes of Obama, and at that moment they knew they were doomed from the start. They could very well be leaving this star crossed world behind.


End file.
